I'm not 15 anymore.....
Posted by Zoe's Dad at Tuesday, November 27, 2007 12:40 AM and is filed under lactic acid,Turkey Bowl,Touch Football,Kids,Thanksgiving,Family 
Thanksgiving 2007 and the morning after--or the way I remember it.
The alarm sounded at 7:00am. The pain started at 7:00am and 10 seconds. "My God, what have I done? Why on Earth would I do that? What was I thinking?!" My head was pounding. Every ounce of my body was in pain. I literally had to will myself to move from the bed to the bathroom just 15 feet away. Seriously, I could actually feel the synapses relaying the messages to the muscle fibers in my legs forcing an awkward unsightly limp towards the cold porcelain god of relief patiently awaiting my arrival. There was no relief. I looked elsewhere. The shower. That's the ticket. Hot, steaming and pulsating streams of reinvigorating water. It was not to be. Hot, steaming and pulsating are three terms I have yet to associate with any hotel shower and today would be no different.
So what is this self-inflicted poison coursing through my body? Too much vino and tryptophan? One or eight too many frosty adult beverages as I digested that fourth piece of pecan pie? (yes, I had FOUR pieces of pecan pie) Too many cocktails as I sat, bloated and belching in the recliner watching the spectacle that is Thanksgiving Football? No, sir. None of the above. There was no over indulgence on my part during the Feast of Thanksgiving. (And no, four pieces of pecan pie is not over indulgence. It is being polite. I was told the pie was made especially for me. I had to eat it!) My pain was coming from a far bigger demon deep within my core.
Lactic Acid. That's right sports fans. I was a victim of what has become one of the most highly anticipated holiday events of the year. The Turkey Bowl. It's a hotly contested, ultra competitive game of touch football played by the menfolk of our family. The nephews, uncles, fathers brothers-in-law. My little Zane, just 5 years old, would be participating in his first Turkey Bowl. He had been talking about it for days. For him, there really was no other reason to celebrate Thanksgiving.
Me: Turkey?
Him: Overrated.
Me: Pilgrims?
Him: Schmilgrims.
Me: Massasoit?
Him: Dad, I've got an idea. Throw me the ball!!
Even, Zoë got in on the action although she preferred to chase snowflakes with her tongue. (Yes, it snowed during the Turkey Bowl.) In fact, all generations were well represented as we ranged in age from 5 to 55. I threw my body around that backyard like I was 15 years old again. Throwing deep routes and short slants. Running post routes, button hooks and crossing patterns with the gracefulness of a gazelle. Covering the long balls and chasing down toss sweeps with all the beauty of a mountain stream. (In reality the yard could not have been more than 25 yards long and 20 yards wide.) To the uninformed or casual passerby it may seem like a shoddy game of backyard touch football played by overweight, out of shape and aging fathers and brothers in law and their wily full of youth kids but it was oh, so much more than that. OK. On second thought, that's exactly what it was. I can almost hear the casual passerby's remarks. "Why are they going in slow motion?"
Yes, I shall remember this Thanksgiving for quite some time. At least until the bruises fade.
More than once, after having sacrificed myself diving for a ball my brother-in-law would ask, "I just gotta know. Was it worth it?"
"Not even if I had caught the damn thing!"
The alarm sounded at 7:00am. The pain started at 7:00am and 10 seconds. "My God, what have I done? Why on Earth would I do that? What was I thinking?!" My head was pounding. Every ounce of my body was in pain. I literally had to will myself to move from the bed to the bathroom just 15 feet away. Seriously, I could actually feel the synapses relaying the messages to the muscle fibers in my legs forcing an awkward unsightly limp towards the cold porcelain god of relief patiently awaiting my arrival. There was no relief. I looked elsewhere. The shower. That's the ticket. Hot, steaming and pulsating streams of reinvigorating water. It was not to be. Hot, steaming and pulsating are three terms I have yet to associate with any hotel shower and today would be no different.
So what is this self-inflicted poison coursing through my body? Too much vino and tryptophan? One or eight too many frosty adult beverages as I digested that fourth piece of pecan pie? (yes, I had FOUR pieces of pecan pie) Too many cocktails as I sat, bloated and belching in the recliner watching the spectacle that is Thanksgiving Football? No, sir. None of the above. There was no over indulgence on my part during the Feast of Thanksgiving. (And no, four pieces of pecan pie is not over indulgence. It is being polite. I was told the pie was made especially for me. I had to eat it!) My pain was coming from a far bigger demon deep within my core.
Lactic Acid. That's right sports fans. I was a victim of what has become one of the most highly anticipated holiday events of the year. The Turkey Bowl. It's a hotly contested, ultra competitive game of touch football played by the menfolk of our family. The nephews, uncles, fathers brothers-in-law. My little Zane, just 5 years old, would be participating in his first Turkey Bowl. He had been talking about it for days. For him, there really was no other reason to celebrate Thanksgiving.
Me: Turkey?
Him: Overrated.
Me: Pilgrims?
Him: Schmilgrims.
Me: Massasoit?
Him: Dad, I've got an idea. Throw me the ball!!
Even, Zoë got in on the action although she preferred to chase snowflakes with her tongue. (Yes, it snowed during the Turkey Bowl.) In fact, all generations were well represented as we ranged in age from 5 to 55. I threw my body around that backyard like I was 15 years old again. Throwing deep routes and short slants. Running post routes, button hooks and crossing patterns with the gracefulness of a gazelle. Covering the long balls and chasing down toss sweeps with all the beauty of a mountain stream. (In reality the yard could not have been more than 25 yards long and 20 yards wide.) To the uninformed or casual passerby it may seem like a shoddy game of backyard touch football played by overweight, out of shape and aging fathers and brothers in law and their wily full of youth kids but it was oh, so much more than that. OK. On second thought, that's exactly what it was. I can almost hear the casual passerby's remarks. "Why are they going in slow motion?"
Yes, I shall remember this Thanksgiving for quite some time. At least until the bruises fade.
More than once, after having sacrificed myself diving for a ball my brother-in-law would ask, "I just gotta know. Was it worth it?"
"Not even if I had caught the damn thing!"
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Sunday, February 03, 2008 9:56 PM
touch football wrote:
Bookmarked your post over at Blog Bookmarker.com!
I played football on Thanksgiving as well and I am proud (and amazed) that I wasn't sore the next day. Please keep in mind that I sit on my butt for a living and my exercise consists mainly of taking out the trash.
Plus, I caught a really sweet pass.
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I caught a cramp!!
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I learned that lesson a couple of months ago myself. I must brag, I mean, admit, though, that we were playing tackle not flag!
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Well, I spent a lot of time on the ground but it wasn't because I was tackled. Essentially, my legs staged a coup and refused any coordinated efforts of movement with the rest of my body!
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This is why I never get off the couch.
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If that is the case, God help you next summer! Seventy eight miles is an awfully long way for a potato to trek. I'm eargerly following your progress.
Check out Dan's ambitious altruism over at The Dales Walk.
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Had to come see what "Zoe's Dad" is all about because I have a Zoe, too. And a Zachary, though we had considered naming him Zane.
Anyhow, came across you on Life Turned Upside Down and had to check you out!
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Welcome to the madness and thanks for stopping by. Come back often.
Anyone with two Z's is AOK in my book.
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I think this is what comes from having to entertain the family when you've procreated to the point that you could staff your own basketball team. Regardless, I envy you. Sometimes you just have to take one for the team.
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I just don't think the team appreciated my efforts. And, I know they aren't helping me pre-treat all of those grass stains.
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Wow. All I can say is better you than me. After Thanksgiving dinner, the last thing I want to do is play football. If not for the whole pregnancy thing, I'd be the one suffering from one too many cocktails or glasses of good old vino. :o)
Hope the bruises fade soon!
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It's a pretty green color now.
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Hehe, that was funny. Although there's something deeply satisfying about waking up completely stiff and sore because of an athletic accomplishment from the previous day.
BTW - I picked you in my TT this week as a "favorite" but you have to come to http://anyapples.blogspot.com/ to find out why.
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It's been almost a week and I'm still sore. No satisfaction yet--maybe if we had won.
Thanks for the mention on your blog.
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